Changed For Good
by loveandwar1771
Summary: On a site filled with random strangers, what are the chances that Sherlock and John meet up? Well they do. Post Reichenbach, spoilers, angst, fluff, and some smut. Co-written with Hino Hitari.


**A.N./  While suffering from Post Reichenbach Depression, Omegle really is the place to go. Co written with the wonderful Hino Hitari. Please, go check out her stuff. Okay, here you go :)**

****Changed For Good

I'm not dead. Let's have dinner - SH

**Sherlock? Oh my Godness! - JW**

C'mon. Let's go down to that Chinsese Restaurant. midnight? - SH

**You bastard! Dammit Sherlock! Where are you? - JW**

I'm on my way into London. I have business to attend to before I get back, but I thought I should give you a heads up - SH

**How could you do that to me? - JW**

...I'm sorry, John. Just give me a chance to explain.

**Of course. Just tell me ... are you fine? - JW**

I'll be fine once I see you again. It's been rather...bleak without you - SH

**I missed you too. So much that even your brilliant brain can't imagine. I'll be there at midnight. - JW**

You'd be surprised, John, how much...sentiment I can feel. - SH

Especially towards you - SH

**You: It's not sentiment Sherlock. It's called ... love. - JW**

Stranger: Love is not something I can feel...easily, nor admit it John. And you know this. But you're the closest I've ever come to it - SH

**Even that makes me happy. Where have you been for those past three years? - JW**

Cleaning up loose threads. Moriarty had a strong weave of men, and I had to make sure all of them were gone. And now they are. - SH

**On your own? - JW**

...No. I had help. Other than Mycroft, though he did help quite a lot. I wish I could have though - SH

**Wait... Mycroft knew ? - JW**

After a bit. And he knew that if he told you, Moriarty's men would be after you - SH

**But ... I saw you dead! - JW**

Molly got another body ready. You hit you head, and saw what you expected to see. It wasn't me - SH

**Oh ... dammit. Even Molly knew. - JW**

**Not that I'm blaming you but I feel very ... stupid. - JW**

I told her I thought I was going to die. She wasn't threatened because no one knew we are friends. But you...I couldn't tell you, though you were the only person I wanted to tell - SH

John, you're brilliant. Never sell yourself short - SH

**Thank you. But still. What are your plans now? You know I haven't moved from 221B. - JW**

I...was hoping I could come home - SH

**You're always welcome. I didn't touch your things. Except the head in the fridge because I needed place for the milk. - JW**

John how are your nightmares? You're PTSD?

**I'm coping - not that I had much choice in the matter. And you? Finally got rid of those nicotine patches? - JW**

Would you still want me back if..if I had been using again? - SH

**Of course, you idiot. I always want you back, whatever you do. Call it sentiment again if you want, I don't care anymore what it is, it's there. - JW**

Good. - SH

And you're lying. You're not coping. Your limp is worse than when I met you, and you tend to rub your shoulder a lot. And I've seen you with the nightmares. You didn't used to have them like this - SH

**I thought you were dead Sherlock. How do you want me to be ok? You want me to tell the truth? Well.**

**Everyday was like hell. Your stuff were everywhere in the flat and I didn't have enough strength to touch them even if every look at them made my heart squeeze.**

**I missed you so much that sometimes I laid in my bed for days, thinking of you; trying to convince myself you were gone but my heart did not listen.**

**Every time I closed my eyes I saw you. I barely slept.**

**Everything was you Sherlock. And everything hurt. - JW**

I'm so sorry John. I, I've tried to stay close and watch over you but... god I'm so sorry - SH

**But now it's ok, isn't it? - JW**

Yes John. Everything will be okay now - SH

**Midnight, then. Don't be late. - JW**

**I was sitting at our usual seat, my hands still shaking from the text conversation we had earlier. I glanced at my watch. Still twenty minutes to wait. I just couldn't stop stressing. It had been three years, and I was feeling like a teenage girl at her first date.**

The cab seemed to go too slow. Far too slow. My fingers taped quickly as my brain yearned for a cigarette. I knew some things had changed; my confession of sentiment, while largely anticlimactic, still rang in my ears, and worry ran through my mind, a broken record wondering, how much actually changed?

Was I too late?

**My mind wandered as I drank enough water - to relieve the stress - to grow a vegetation in the middle of the Sahara. What does he look like now? How much has he changed? Would he still like me? Because I was aware - after the hysteria of the conversation - that three years were enough to make things completely different. Then, I prayed that time spared us.**

The cab pulled up to the restaurant. Again, my heart was pounding. Something that only John could achieve, though usually his life was in danger. What would happen if I moved back in and John walked in on me with my drugs in front of me? Not that I should need them again but... Things change. Three years can change a lot, and John easily forgets. He's probably forgotten how my mind works, and that I don't make polite conversation. I desperately hope that things haven't changed.

**As I was watching the street through the window, I saw a cab stop just in front of the restaurant. And his silhouette. My heart raced in my chest, trying desperately to reach for his and my brain forgot how to think. And as he got out the cab and pay the note, my breathe was taken away. He was there, as tall as three years ago; with the same coat, the same scarf. As if there weren't a three-years gap between us. But I knew better.**

The restaurant had changed. There was new exterior paint, as well as nicer decorations than I had ever expected from them. The sidewalk was in much worse shape than before, pocketed from horrid London rains and never ending pedestrians. Taking on my calm exterior that I have learned worked well when I was nervous. The host was different, as was the lighting. Simpler than before. I look around, and caught his eye. Whether my heart stopped or beat so fast I couldn't feel it, I was thrown into a world of the unknown - something I've never experienced before.

**Through the darkness of the night, his eyes met mine, and the world stopped for a second. I felt tears coming up but swallowed them. His features were sharper than before, and then I knew he had changed. It was my Sherlock but with something new I couldn't name. Something more dangerous. Should I stand up when he entered? Would my knees bear the weight in my heart? Should I offer my hand to greet? Would they shake if I do so? What greeting to say? Hello? Good evening? Hi? Wouldn't my voice crack? Should I try to smile or would it look like grin? Sherlock had always mesmerized me but right now, for the first time of my life, he terrified me.**

He was thinner, and that worried me (though my pile of worry never seemed to end). Why hadn't he been eating en- oh. His nightmares and PTSD. He said he went through hell, because of me. He was clean shaved, though there was a nick on his right cheek, just barely clotted, meaning he had just shaved, probably an hour or two ago. Long enough to get ready. Everything about him seemed fresh and new, and heavy. There were bags under his eyes, and his shoulders slumped - he had lost his posture. He never had his shoulders forward, not after his training in the military. Were those - tears, in his eyes? Oh god. I swallowed, trying to refuse the tears that wanted to slip through. His name felt so right on my tongue.

"John, did you order already?"

**I just opened my mouth but my throat was so dry that no word could come - even if I had drank liters of water. His voice, this so familiar baritone voice I heard in my most horrible nightmares, made me shiver. He looker even paler than before and I found myself worried about his health. It looked like he hadn't slept for days and barely ate. But still, I couldn't say anything. I wanted to stand up and hug him. I wanted to punch him. I wanted to run away. I wanted to kiss him. And there he sat, opposite to me. I couldn't help but keep on staring. His eyes ... oh God, his eyes. Whereas they used to be sparkling of intelligence, now, they looked ... dead. He had the eyes of someone who had seen too much - even for **_**him**_** - and bore too much. My heart definitely broke and I couldn't hold the tears anymore.**

He just started crying. I just sat there, unable to do anything, though I wished I could. Did I break him? I, I couldn't have. I'm not good enough. And then the cemetery flashed through my mind, and I remembered John crying, over me. The same situation, but this time was different. There weren't any more men out there. My eyes flickered frantically, trying to find something, anything. I reached out a hand, trying to envelope his. This is what you're supposed to do, right? Didn't John teach me this sometime? Try and comfort them. But I don't know how. I would do anything to learn how.

"John, please, look at me?" My hand merely a half an inch away from his.

**His voice again. I wanted him to keep talking, to catch up three years of utter silence. But how could I tell him that? I felt so horrible for crying like a schoolgirl so I just washed the tears away and looked at him and what I saw definitely killed me. I made him /worried/. How could I bloody do that? I stood up, giving my back to him, in order to sort my feeling out and to calm down a second**.

**"Just ... wait a sec." I said, taking a deep breath and trying to control myself again.**

I instantly retracted my hand, feeling the familiar cold bitterness begin to seep into my mind again. _That's utterly ridiculous. This is John. Everything will be fine_. But how much damage could he withstand? While he wasn't invincible, he was strong, much stronger than anyone else I know. Doubts began to sprout and grow. _He can't have you back. He can't even look at you. How is he supposed to live with somebody who has caused him so much pain? _Again for once, I let the doubts grow, no energy to shut them down. My hands began to twitch, and I felt that familiar need again. I began to re-memorize John, or rather the back of him - the only thing to prevent me from using. He was breathing hard, and I just wished I could do something, anything, to try and restore him to the man he was.

**Five minutes later, during which the silence spread between us, I was more or less fine. I took a final deep breath and turned to face him. He was still sitting and staring at me.**

**"Stand up" I said.**

I shot up like a rocket, his voice startling me. The chair clattered to the floor, drawing attention. How was I suppose to say no? How _could_ I even say no? He was still the same height he had been - that foot and a half of difference between us that (more often that not) chased away the doubts. He looked up at me with his adorning eyes, nose red from crying.

**As soon as he stood, I punched him in the face as hard as I could.**

**"This was for the three fucking years you left me bloody alone! - Now, pay me a meal and we are quits."**

That's the funny thing about John and I. I can solve any crime, deduce nearly anything, and yet no matter what John does, it always surprises me. Needless to say, this was one of those moments, though quite understandable considering the situation. I reached for a napkin and tried to staunch the blood. The host came over, shouting in Mandarin with such words, he'd be thrown out himself if anyone actually understood. I replied politely (or rather politely as I could with a broken nose) and sat back down. I wouldn't say I wasn't disappointed. I, in a brief moment of false hope, wished it was going to be a hug. But if this is all it would take to help John, he could beat me for days.

"Glad to know you're left hook is still sharp, John." His name was nearly as addictive as the drugs.

**I sat down and watched him trying to clean the blood. Well, at least I could say I didn't miss him. And he spoke God, I could spend my life listening to him talking again and again. I was relieved, completely relieved. This punch swept away three years of angst and hell. When his napkin was filled of blood, I gave him mine, still not answering though. I wanted him to talk.**

He looked so... expectant of me, as though I could save him. Everything I had though earlier today escaped me in one breath.

"I'm sorry that it had to happen the way that it did John. I'm sorry that I couldn't have been smarter and faster. I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner, or give you a hint or anything. God John, I'm so sorry." Sobs tried to shake me, tears wanted out, but I couldn't let them. I didn't know how. I just know that I had regretted ever trying to be clever.

**I saw his eyes filling with tears but he wouldn't let them fall. Even now, he tried to be the strong Sherlock who never let his emotions take over. And I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted him to show his heart, for once, for the first time, and perhaps for the last time. But just for this time.**

**"Fuck it, Sherlock. It's not time to hold back. Just ... for once ... for once, show me everything Sherlock. Please ..." I begged.**

Those words released every regret, every ache, feeling, worry, doubt and numb bone in my body. The sobs shook me, and I reached blindly for his hand. Something to hold onto, an anchor, something he's always been. Every time I saw someone die, I became more and more numb. I was never meant to kill anyone. I was meant to solve crimes. But he was always in the back of my mind.

"Goddamnit John, I hate not having you."

Mummy taught me never to feel anything. Mycroft ensured it. Seeing body after body, I was numb. But John? Somehow, in this short, beautiful man, he taught me everything I've never thought about. Everything I've seen, but never felt. Perhaps it was more than sentiment. A lot more.

**"You have all of me," I said, voice breaking, "everything."**

**I knew we were more pathetic than any drama movie out there, but I didn't care. His touch was warm and desperate, and I knew he was getting everything out; and that it hurt him but I also knew he needed it. He needed to unleash years of holding back his feelings. I drew my hand out of his and recovered it even if mine was smaller. And I squeezed, to comfort, throwing as much as myself into my genuine act. Telling him that it was okay, telling him to continue. That I loved him.**

His hand was so warm, rough with callous, and exactly what I needed. Like the warmth from his hand flooded my body. He was comforting me. Like I wish I was able to do for him. But maybe, I could learn how. He could teach me to be human. The sobs began to subside, and once I was once again under control, I cleaned my self up (again), never letting go of John's hand. I was scared to think he wasn't real, and this is just one of those rare dreams I would have after a killing. But he grounded me, kept me in reality rather than in my head. He traced circles and patterns into my hand, and I memorized them, hoping that one day I could retaliate.

"Aren't you going to make some comment about how people will talk?" I tried to bring back my old smile, the comfortable one that fit, before Moriarty and after John.

**A genuine smile. My heart skipped a beat, and then raced to catch up. I couldn't even say how much I missed his smile. I knew he was real, that everything was back to normal; that now I had a home named Sherlock Holmes.**

**I smiled back.**

**"Definitely!"**

I chuckled. Everything about John was warm. For once I ate, and promptly paid for the meal. I never let his hand go.

"Of course, take your time John, but I'm ready to go home."

**I glanced at my plate. Oh, dammit.**

**"So, what are we waiting for?"**

**I stood up, our hands still linked - and I did not want them to be separate again.**

I asked for John's meal to be packed away, and we left, hand in hand. The streets seemed so different, as though there was a different type of air to them. Of course, I had John now, which made everything worthwhile. The doors passed, and before I knew it, we were standing before 221b Baker Street. The door was painted another color, however, this seemed to be the only place that hadn't changed. I watched John as he tried to unlock the door with one hand. He seemed...lighter, better than before. He seemed to glow. I wished it was because of me, being here, with him. He got the door unlocked, and swung it open. The complete smell of Mrs Hudson and John and _home_ hit me, and I squeezed his hand.

**My heart felt like exploding. When Sherlock was gone, this flat was just a flat, but now, with his hands squeezing mine, 221B Baker Street was home again. I glanced at Sherlock and it looked like he was petrified. I frowned.**

**"You ok?"**

I looked at him and the looked at the door. Of course he would be able to tell. "Would you...hug, me? Please?"

**Okay ... that was ... unexpected. The words entered my brain but it was hard to process them efficiently. He was staring at me, waiting. Sherlock Holmes, **_**THE**_** Sherlock Holmes, was asking me to ... Oh my ...**

**And I didn't know if it was a proper hug but I crushed myself against him, squeezing him like my life depended on it - which was rather true currently.**

My first hug from John was exactly what I needed. True, it was clumsy and imperfect, but it was _John_. His smell this close was intoxicating. I had a hard time thinking, analyzing, figuring out why endorphins were suddenly running freely through my body. I deducted one thing though. Something I should have seen from the moment I got back, or even before. "I love you too, John."

**My brain got lost in the process. Right now, I wanted to jump everywhere, get out in the street and scream "HE BLOODY LOVES ME!", wake Mrs. Hudson up and drink champagne, and call Mycroft and everybody I know and tell them "Fuck off, Sherlock Holmes LOVES me". Now I knew what teenage girls felt in front of her favorite celebrity. But of course, I didn't do all of that - because it was past one hour in the morning and people were sleeping. Instead I drew back, looked into his eyes and what I saw in there made me crush my lips against his.**

I couldn't breathe, or move. This was all so new to me, and I didn't fare well with new. But this was John, whose hand was still clasped around mine, who waited for three years, even though he didn't know I was alive. This was John who understood me, put up with me, and defended me with his entire life. John, who loved me. And I loved him. I tried to get my lips to move right, like his. His taste could make me forget about any drug I had ever used. Every nerve in my body was on fire, and I couldn't calculate where John started and where I ended. This...this kiss left me breathless, and yearning for more.

**I felt Sherlock's lips moving and it was so clumsy I knew it's his first time doing something like this. This thought delighted me even more. But I drew back and pulled him with me through the stairs.**

He left me dizzy, pulling me through the doorway and up the stars. My head was reeling, and I had to grab onto the wall for support. John opened the door. I was desperate to get my lips back on his, to experiment and find results. I missed the taste of him already.

_**Why the hell is his bedroom so far? **_**When we arrived in his bedroom - as untouched as he left it three years ago - he both paused a few seconds for the sake of posterity. But it didn't last long because my lips craved his and I shoved my hands in those soft curly black hair of his.**

He really didn't move anything. Struck by nostalgia, I looked around, knowing that nothing had been moved. A part of me wondered if John had come in here at all, but then his hands were in my hair, and some sort of electric shock went through me. I tripped over piles of books and boxes, trying to keep John touching me as much as he could. My lips were on his and his were on mine, and somehow we ended on the bed, John below me. I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the ghost of muscles that were nearly permanent on his body. Strange - like his kisses, they drove me wild.

**I couldn't think anymore. All I could do was to feel. Everything was Sherlock around me. His breath, his touch, his kiss. I didn't know that a human could feel like this. I took away my jacket and threw it somewhere in the room, then did the same with his coat and his scarf. His hands were everywhere and I moaned.**

His moan was what did it. Like some sort of trigger, and I could think of was John, and how I wanted everything with him. My hips jerked, rubbing against John. And then it was my turn to moan.

**Had I already said that his voice drove me crazy? Then you couldn't even imagine what his moan did to me. Our lips couldn't part more than two seconds - just to catch enough air to keep going on. His smell intoxicated me, and I knew that I was getting addicted to it, oxygen was so dull compared to that wonderful smell of his. But I wanted more; so I almost ripped his shirt away and broke the kiss. I stared at him. It was not the first time I had found myself in front of a half-naked Sherlock but this was ... gorgeous. His skin was pale, and even if he was thinner than before, he was just ... bloody gorgeous. And that very sight of just his chest made me moan.**

It wasn't fair that I could go shirtless and he was still so covered. My fingers fumbled on his buttons, hands shaking for once. Once his shirt was gone, my eyes were drawn instantly to the mattered mess of skin on his shoulders. My hands traced the puckered skin, hoping to instill something into this beautiful man.

"You. Are. So. Beautiful." A kiss on the scar after every word. From there, following his collarbone and below his ear. His neck tasted so delicious.

**Oh. My. SHERLOCK! Who said he was virgin? He surely knew what we was doing because what was left of reason in me totally got swept away by every single kiss. He went down, again and again and my hands gripped the sheet below me.**

**"Need ... more ..." I managed to mumble.**

I tried to think back to high school, back to when sex education was taught; I had never thought it was important, and right now I wished I hadn't deleted everything that I did. I slowly unbuckled his pants, trying to waste time, trying to think. I could only remember touching myself once or twice, and that was. it. He would understand. He would teach me.

My lips still attached to his neck, I ran my hand down his stomach and over his boxers, rubbing. This I remember. This I can do. Slipping my hand under his boxers, I took my face away from his for the first time since we got to the flat. I kept my face next to his, breathing hard. He felt perfect in my hand.

**Sherlock slid his hands into my boxer and I knew he felt a bit insecure.**

**"Don't stop" I breathe into his ear. "Just ... feel."**

And I moved my hips to meet his hand, and kissed his neck.

I moaned his name, and began to stroke, adding twists when I realized that's what John wanted. My other hand still traced the dips between feint muscles, over his chest, and everywhere else I could touch. My mouth returned to his, hungry for more, for everything. I wanted everything with this man.

**The kiss felt something like desperate - and perhaps, we were. I caressed his back, his chest and every centimeter of bare skin I could reach. Slowly, my hands reached his jeans that I was struggling to unbutton - focused on the wonderful thing he was doing with his hands.**

"Dammit Sherlock ..."

"John..." Everywhere where he touched left a trail of fire; it felt like my entire body was burning up. As his hands lowered, touching my stomach with what felt like ghost finger tips, my heart lurched, and I whined in his mouth. "John, please...touch me. I need you."

**His voice sent shivers everywhere in my body.**

"Talk Sherlock" I mumbled as I finally got rid of his jeans. "Please, keep talking ..."

And I slipped my hand into his boxer.

"John, just like - oh." Barely anything coherent escaped my lips, but I never stopped. I kept talking and making noise over his lips, thrusting into his hand while trying to keep a steady rhythm for John. Sweat was beginning to drip from my body. Never ending thrills chased each other around my body, my head. "God John I love you. I could never - ergg - not love you. Damn..."

**Fuck. This was too much. His voice. His kisses. His touch. His words. I couldn't hold it anymore and came hard in his hand. This was heaven.**

"Say it John, say you love me, please." So close. My stomach began to get tight, almost so it hurt.

**"I love you more than anything else, Sherlock Holmes" I breathed in his ear.**

And like that, I came, and I finally realized why people went through so much trouble to find love. Not sex, but love. Because with any other person, without the level of complete trust and the knowledge that it's the other person, it would have been a waste of time. But whenever I was with John, nothing could be a waste of time. And this was a lovely way to pass it.

**Sherlock just kind of ... fell on me. Not that I complain - after what he did how could I complain? - but he was heavy. However, I hugged him and drew circles on his back. After /that/, we both needed to relax and to rest. I felt his hot breath in neck and I giggled (I really was becoming a schoolgirl at this rate).**

"You're perfect, John." I really wish he could see how we've reversed. I could no longer hold in my admiration for him, and had to vocalize it at any given moment. Hot, sweaty, and complete messes, I was too exhausted and far too comfortable in John's arms to get up.

"Before we fall asleep, which is going to happen soon, as we've both exhausted our energy supply and it's nearly two in the morning, will you do one last thing for me?"

**I giggled again - kill. me. - at the ever rationalization Sherlock did.**

"What is it, love?"

His new found laugh made his stomach bounce, something completely adorable and in every way John. I couldn't wait to find more small thing such as this.

"Can-will you kiss me goodnight? Just a kiss?"

**This man always knew how to take my breath away. He just did it again.**

**I caressed his so famous cheekbones and looked into his icy blue eyes and melted. So much love, toward me. Oh. My. And I kissed him slowly. Not as passionate as before, but chaste; full of my heart.**

"Good night, Sherlock" I whispered again his lips.

**The end.**

**Co-written by Elizabeth and Holly. **

**A.N./ There will be another chapter up, just so everyone knows :) Thank you, and please review.  
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